Fatal Ink

I'm not afraid of death, I'm afraid of dying. Whatever happens after I leave this Earth, that's between me and whoever, whatever is up there (if there even is anything up there). Even the idea of winking out of existence, my consciousness lost to the wind, doesn't fear me. But dying a painful death, that does. And at this moment, it is all I can think about as I am running. Running so impossibly slow, like sludging through a dreamlike state of water and mud. They are gaining on me absurdly fast as my body locks up with fear, wishing I was one of those people who chose flight in times of need. There is fight or flight, and then there is me, who chooses to freeze. They grab my ankle and I am falling, hands outstretched, face scrunched in an unattractive manner, eyes wide with realization. I am going to die.

Just how did I get here you’re asking? Lets shuffle back a few hours to this morning to uncover this mystery.

It started as a normal day. The weather overcast and glum. The air brisk and smelling of fall. The ground hard and unforgiving with the impending winter. I vacated my dorm room in the quietest of fashions so as to not wake up my roommate, only banging into the wall three times and knocking my water bottle over once on my way out. The second I entered the hallway, I felt the coldness of eyes on my back, and the vulnerability of the open air on my neck. I’m a coward, so I ran down the stairs, glimpsing behind me to find no one and nothing, inciting a feeling of shame over my usual jumpiness. I’ve always been this way, afraid of my own shadow. I watch the exits of every room I enter, counting how many there are and how far away I am from each of them. I sit on the edge of every chair, ready to bolt at moments notice, never fully settling into anything. I jump when I am sitting in bed and my roommate comes home, always procuring a face of concern from her, as if I was abused at home and am scarred from it. I feel eyes that don’t exist. I feel judged when there is no one there to judge. My heart races when I create fake scenarios of my imminent murder. And all of this preparation obviously amounts to nothing because when danger actually grabs me by the ankles, I do nothing but ice over and freeze.

So, it is completely normal this morning for me to feel the dark eyes of the enemy watching me abandon my room, because I do this every morning. As I rush down the stairs in a frenzy, I forget to look forwards, my mind only concerned with an attack from behind. Suddenly I am colliding with a hard, unforgiving body covered in black, and before I can process who or what it is, I am suspended an inch from the floor. 

He holds me at an impossible angle, arms strong but cold. I hover in the air for a moment before he places me upright and hurriedly continues up the stairs. I know what you’re thinking. Either, who is this mysterious, hot gentleman, or, this is totally the murderer from the beginning right? Honestly, I can’t tell you the answer to either because 1. I did not see his face, and 2. I don’t know who the murderer is yet, so just keep reading and maybe you will find out who knows. 

He leaves me standing there, bewildered and flustered, face hot with embarrassment, reeling to figure out what just happened. Now, any normal person would try to forget about this and continue on with their day, hoping that person either won’t remember or won’t spread the tale to anyone they know, but I am no normal person. I stood there, stuck, for about five minutes before the sound of the door to the stairwell opening jarred me from my stupor, setting me into a run for the exit before I could find out who it was that had just entered.

Let's flash forward to later in the day, my mind still caught up in the perplexity of my morning, unable to focus on anything else. I finally sat down in the library to fake study for my midterm tomorrow and read my book in secret. I know what you’re thinking, why would you go to the library, that’s the most haunted place ever! If you were going to get murdered, the dark alleyways of the bookshelves is definitely where it would happen. The thing is, for some reason this is the only place I feel safe. It’s silent, so I would hear if someone were to creep up on me. I sit with my back to the wall, so there are no sneak attacks from behind, which to me is the only logical way to attack someone. And, it’s a public space, what could possibly happen, right?

I’m reading when a book perplexingly tumbles off the shelf beside me, falling onto my table with a sickening thud. Immense, dramatic fear jarred me from my fantastical world where I had forgotten about my troubles. Being teleported back to this realm that way was nothing short of heart stopping. I sat there, breathless, pulse racing, head throbbing, when I saw that the book had fallen open on a curious page. It strangely looked like the book that had been left on my library table yesterday, though I forgot what it had been about. It read:

CHAPTER 22: THE WOMAN IN THE LIBRARY

The woman sat in the library, engrossed in her book. She twirled her hair incessantly, and tapped her foot with anxious feeling. From afar, you would not know why she was anxious, for she was a beautiful, intelligent looking girl, and nothing could possibly be amiss in her perfect life. Despite this, she seemed as if she was impossibly afraid all the time. Of what, or whom, I do not know. I watched her from afar, soaking in her every move. The softness of her lips. The curve of her thighs. The shine of her hair. I’ve watched her for a long time now, her suspicious nature is what makes it such a thrill, making it such a rush. I’m always on the verge of getting caught, her constantly watching over her shoulder makes it easy though, as I’m always in front of her. She never looks forward, only behind. I wouldn’t be able to see her pretty face from behind. I know her schedule, waiting in the hallway every morning for her to exit in a rush, like someone is out to get her. I’m not out to get her, I love her. I love watching her. 

The loud noise of a book falling from the shelf onto her table jars her from her story. Today she is reading another one of those silly fantasy novels. She will be reading a new one tomorrow. She finishes them so effortlessly quickly. She sits there for a moment, chest heaving, before she stares curiously at the novel that has fallen open in front of her. She begins to read the page intently when she looks up in a panic.

I scanned the room for any sign of a watcher. Everyone has their head in an electronic device, typing away. Not one lingering eye in the room. Not one person dressed in black. I’m not sure why I still look for someone dressed in black. The words were chilling. Just a little too accurate for my liking. I think someone is watching me. At this point, you’re probably like, duh, someone is obviously watching you, but if a possibly enchanted book fell onto your library table, would you believe it? I’m not one to believe in things like this, and even my suspicious nature didn’t force me to automatically believe that the woman in the library was me. I’m suspicious, but not stupid, right?

Even so, I was thoroughly freaked out and just wanted to go back to the safety of my room and lock the door. I debated about taking the book for an instant, but grabbed it still open, so as not to lose my page. I don’t normally read and walk, for then how would I fight off an attack if I was all wound up inside a different story, but this felt like the perfect time to begin.

She stares around the room, looking for someone. I hope it is not a lover. Of course it's not, I see her alone at all hours of the day. No one cares for her like I do. It’s sad but invigorating to know that I am the only other person in her life. One day, I will be brave enough to speak to her, and she will fall in love with me instantly. She must, after getting no attention from others, any attention at all will peak her interest. That will be me. I will give her that attention. She looks back down at the book that remarkably fell on its own. I am still trying to figure that one out when she stands up abruptly, pondering for a moment before holding the book open in front of her like a compass. She continues to look foolishly over her shoulder as she stalks out of the library. I take the shortcut and am ahead of her in a flash, watching as she hurries in the direction of her room. 

My heart was in my ears. How can it be that the woman in this story is doing the exact same thing as me, but it seems to have been written before I even do it? I walked faster now, needing to get back to my room as quickly as possible, increasingly fearing this book may be writing truths. Every bush was a person waiting to pounce. Every student walking home was watching me. Every crack in the pavement threatened to trip me and slow me down.

She must know something I do not. Has she finally figured it out? Does she know I watch her every day and dread the moment she retreats back to her room? She looks more and more panicked with each word she reads on the page. Her pace becomes brisk and I must hurry to stay ahead of her. I begin to jog from my position in front and to the left, parallel with her quick strides and disturbed face. She keeps looking up from the book, switching between horror and intense focus on her page. 

You’re probably thinking, this is where you run right? This is where you are chased by the mysterious person while you fear your death. Nope. I still have yet to run if you can believe it. My survival instincts are slim as I have explained before. Finally, I reached the stairs to my room. The three flights are normally nothing more than a bother, but today, they stretched into eternity before me. I took them in twos, hoping my watcher had not reached them yet. Hoping that maybe they wouldn’t follow me in here, as they had said they cannot watch me in my room. When I reached the step just one flight away from my level, I heard it. The hurried sound of steps stomping up the stairs. My freeze instincts started to set in, and my steps slowed as I panicked. Glancing down at the book, I read with horror.

She reached her stairs but I am right behind. I held back just long enough for her to get ahead and not see my face, and then I entered the stairwell. She mustn’t see my face yet, for it will ruin the surprise, although I fear it has already been done. If she knows, I will have to catch her, for she was never supposed to find out about my obsession. It was supposed to be organic, not filled with fear, but I suppose having her this way is better than not having her at all.

I looked down to see them gaining on me, which set me into motion. Sprinting up the stairs, I reached the floor and flung myself at my door. I was too panicked to think about the fact that it is always locked as I rushed in and slammed it closed behind me. Twisting the lock, I caught my breath, throwing the book face down on the floor. I stood still, facing the door as my fear grew. He cannot get me in her, he cannot get me in here, he cannot get me in here. I repeated it, trying to believe the words. 

In a rush of sound, they began to jiggle the handle. I gasped, shoving my fist in my mouth to catch the scream. Their fists banged on the door, incessant but never speaking. I thought that at this moment I would finally shake the feeling of being watched, as my watcher had finally come to fruition, but something still prickled at the back of my neck, demanding I turn around. 

And then I heard the sound of breathing behind me. My heart jumped even further into my throat before I remembered my roommate. My roommate! Of course! She would be able to help me, even if she didn’t like me very much. I glanced at the handle again, ensuring it wouldn’t open, and turned around, hoping to find her steady, reassuring face.

It was not she who stood there, breathing laboriously, but the man dressed in black. I froze, backing against the door that rattled on its hinges, staring into his blank eyes. I opened my mouth to speak but nothing but a squeak came out.

He took a step forward, one hand in front of him, as if to calm me down. I flinched away from him, anticipating my gory death. When I opened my eyes, he stood close to me, staring down with a dark, furious glare. I could not move. I could not yell for help. I could not defend my life. I was going to die. 

He grabbed my shoulders and pushed me aside. Aside? Was he taunting me? He grabbed the door handle and began to unlock it. Again, I was helpless as he let in his companion, both of them clearly working together to stalk and murder me. I did not know how this magical book tied into this elaborate scheme, but I could not fathom that I was important enough for all this fuss.

He threw open the door to the stalker’s surprise, and shoved them into the back wall. I could finally see their face, it was a boy I had never seen before, but I never really looked long enough to see anyone anyway. The two men began to fight, the man in black clearly overpowering the other. The sounds of grunting filled the hallway as they fought, forgetting about me entirely. I know this again sounds contrary to normal behavior, but I went back to the book and picked it up off the floor. It opened to a new page, and it read:

I am who protects her in the night. I watch her, yes, but I watch her to save her. Always two steps behind, I keep her safe. I watch as he watches her, two steps in front of him should he ever try to harm her. I am her guardian angel. I am her savior. I am her last hope. 

I shut the book again before reading further. How could I be so careful and clueless at the same time? I looked out the door at the men fighting as the man in black made the final punch, sending the watcher crumpling to the floor, and I decided to run.

This is where you came in, me running, and of course, falling, fearing my imminent death. 

I crashed to the floor, hitting my forehead to the pavement as my arms refused to break my fall. I go dizzy, laying face first on the ground, limp and drained of coherent thought. The metallic taste of blood floods my mouth where I bit my tongue on the way down. I have the vague feeling of being flipped over as the hazy vision of the stunning man standing over me sways in and out of focus. The edges of my vision sink as I feel the life draining out of me through my cracked skull. You probably thought I wasn’t going to die when you realized it was my protector chasing me didn’t you? Well, he isn’t a very good protector is he. He was just trying to get me to stop running, and well, I’m not running anymore am I? My eyes begin to close as he shakes my shoulders but I feel nothing but the blissfulness of the watching eyes lifting off my back as I sink into the abyss. 

Her eyes snap up from where she reads in the library. Strange book that was. It was sitting on the table when she sat down. It must have been discarded by someone else due to its morbid quality. Whatever it was, it was definitely creepy, and definitely set her on edge. She had been feeling on edge a lot lately, but had chalked it down to just nerves about midterms in two days. Whatever book this was, she needed to get back to her room and as far away from it as possible, already pushing its contents out of her mind. She vacated her seat and began to walk out of the library. What she didn’t see was the two men from opposite sides of the room slowly get up and stalk out right behind her.